Fallout-Dusty Trails
by ticktickboomshow
Summary: The first story of, The Marshal, series. Hunter Tobin, soldier turned bounty hunter, believes he is chasing down a criminal to be punished for his crimes; however, sometimes crimes of another, can reveal our own. Even in Northern Minnesota, people search that dusty trail...looking for justice and forgiveness.
1. Chapter 1: Cowboy Up

Chapter 1: Cowboy Up

 _An explosion rocked his hearing and blurred his vision, knocking him to his back. The frozen ground felt wonderful against his overheated body, but he didn't have time, time never froze, he rolled to his side to see his second to last fellow officer in his navy uniform and black armor vest. The officer was smiling, pulling another pin off a grenade and tossing it over the barricade._

" _Psycho," getting to his knees he brought up his rifle against his own black ceramic ballistic vest, "breath, just breath." He let the last two rounds go and hit their targets, before he could reload however; two leather and metal clad native Americans rushed his barricade. One swung a bat that knocked the rifle from his hands and the other swung an ax high behind him. Pulling out his revolver he fired three shots into the attacker's body, and did his best to roll out from under the falling ax. The bat came back around toward his head, but he scarified his forearm to muffle the blow, sending another two shots into the second attacker._

 _The last other officer in the tower jumped down, running toward him. He motioning the officer off and barely made it up to his knees again, when something struck his chest and shattered the ceramic plate within his ballistic vest._

A couple more shots rang out in the night, striking him in the face and knocking his already unsteady body to the ground. His leg hurt, his chest hurt, his shoulder hurt, his neck didn't hurt at least...wait, yeah it did. The chilling breeze bit at his exposed face as it passed over his beaten body, his heavy brown canvas winter jacket protected his core from the cold. Hunter, lay on his back staring up toward the night sky. His dirty blonde hair had blood clinging to the tips, luckily not his own, but the trail draining down from the bullet graze on the side of his face under his blue eyes was. A struggled cough and leaves barely rustling a few yards away, encouraged him to get moving. With a groan, he rolled to his side, reached out for _Buena_ his .44 revolver and got his back against a stump. He surveyed the blood, the two bodies next to him and searched himself for holes while he braced against the tree. Nothing had punctured his skin besides the graze, but his jacket had seen better days as he flicked an empty syringe away.

"Just walk away, Hunter," a man called out in the night from the garage ahead of him, "no need to make it personal."

" _Oh Crankshaft, you know me better than that."_ Hunter internally chuckled, "You made it personal when you stole my girl, Crankshaft."

"You can have her back, I'll leave her here if you give up the bounty." There was a sense of panic in his voice as it slightly muffled in the wind.

The woman with the sledge had gotten a solid hit in on his chest before he put her down, without a doubt bruising some ribs, and dislocated a couple fingers as he tried to stop the blow. The man with the pipe wrench got a good hit on his leg, but thankfully nothing strained or popped as he hobbled from tree to tree. The second hit might have possibly fractured his shoulder however. _"Guess they call them Wreckers for a reason,"_ Hunter thought while he struggled to load six new rounds and flicked the cylinder closed on the revolver, _"at least my right hand isn't busted."_

Hunter heard Crankshaft whisper, "Get up Sammy, you stupid lug-nut...", to the man by the rusting truck beside the garage.

Hunter saw a flicker from the window, tried to run but ended up diving beside a disassembled motorcycle as a shot rang out. The bike wasn't much cover, but it was cover as a second shot clang off the frame. Though bruised up, really only his leg was the most problematic as it slowed him down. He rolled out fired a shot toward the window and scrambled behind the truck that Sammy was still rolling around. Holstering _Buena_ on his hip, Hunter tossed off his torn gloves, grabbed his fingers and gave them a quick jolt to popped them back into place. There was a sharp pain, a temporary sense of relief that then turned into a dull ache. Withdrawing the revolver with his right hand, he continued to keep flexing the renewed left handed fingers. A couple more shots struck the truck, not too concerning since the engine had been removed long ago, so the risk of explosion was eliminated.

"Watch your fire!" Sammy scooting for his short pipe rifle, fumbling as he searched for the new clip with his injured arm.

Hunter saw that his shots from the exchange earlier had found solid hits in Sammy's left arm and leg. Though he didn't know Sammy's story, it probably went along like this; stupid kid rebelled against his farming family, got the shit kicked out of him during standard raider initiation and had been trying to prove himself to the leader for some hint of acceptance. Hunter fired a shot that hit the pipe rifle's frame and shifted it out of his reach a little farther. _"Should have just drilled him in the back of the head, make him just another dead raider in the Wasteland. No one would miss another raider...maybe his parents...if he had parents out there."_ He shook his head at the thought, _"Lock it up, and focus."_

"Last chance Crankshaft," Hunter didn't expect him to give up, "save yourself some injury."

Throwing a glance through the cab and toward the garage, he didn't see anything. "Fuck..." He rounded the truck, jumped the pile of tires; well, tried to with a tumble. He wasn't able to get the necessary height to clear with his bruised leg and caught his foot on the pile. Being use to bruised up combat situations, he just continued the roll until he slammed into the building. Hunter remained on the ground, but pushed open the door and searched for Crankshaft with his revolver. Nothing, at least that he could see right away. There was a few places to hide, but Hunter figured he had fled out the hole in the wall into the courtyard of rusty cars.

Hunter held his trusty revolver at the ready, searching for the raider leader. A big door slowly swung back and forth on the workshop across the way. Sleet had started to fall on this cold spring night, just encouraging him to finish the fight and rest up for a wet day ahead. A shot rung out, not the petty .38 round from the pipe rifle that Crankshaft used before, but a large .50 caliber round that blew a hole in the aging worn wood wall of the garage. Moving low and fast, Hunter only rose for a second to fire two shots toward the workshop door. He slid behind another pickup, this one more intact than the last. Two more shots hit the truck, one going through the hood and catching part of the engine making a rattle inside. He pulled out his last dose of Med-X, jammed it into his leg feeling the warmness of the painkiller working immediately. Another two shots slammed into the engine, causing it to start on fire.

" _Empty_ ," Hunter once again rounded the truck, heading full steam toward the workshop. Crankshaft peeked out and fired a couple shots with his pipe rifle, one striking Hunter in the side. It didn't slow him down with the painkiller flowing through his veins, Hunter drilled a shot into Crankshaft's right shoulder sending him back a step. As the raider struggled to regain his aim, Hunter had closed the gap, used his arm to push the rifle out of the way and brought his body into a tackle. He had knocked the wind out of the raider, giving him a chance to kick the rifle away and stand over him, barrel baring down.

"Where is she?" he demanded, both men locked eyes but only Crankshaft showed fear. As the raider pointed inside the building, Hunter kept the gun on him as he walked just inside the workshop. There she was, laying on the ground next to the spent casings, _Vista_. Her body was dirty and wore the scars from the rough life she has lived, but she still looked as deadly as ever. Holstering his revolver, Hunter picked up the .50 caliber rifle, dropped out the empty magazine and swapped it out for another from his belt. "Missed you girl."

"Come on Hunter, let me go," Crankshaft put pressure on the wound as he rolled into a sitting position, "we have history man."

Hunter knelt down to level eyes with him, "You keep making it personal...besides, you know I always get my man." It was true, Hunter had a reputation as never failing to collect on a bounty that he went after. One of a handful of bounty hunters that always brought in a body, though his were usually alive. It would seem easy enough to collect on a bounty, but in this frozen Wasteland of the North, the gunfight or capture was the least of your worry.

"Might as well kill me now then, you know Lucky will." Crankshaft looked at his rifle. No doubt the idea of trying to shoot his way out was going through his mind. He began to shiver as his hoodie became soaked under the few pieces of metal armor that covered it.

Hunter didn't say anything. He just looked at the freezing, bleeding man. He had the advantage in this weather, his jacket was insulated, thicker and had a number of metal plates; like the one that took the shot earlier. Crankshaft was hunkered down and thought to be safe here at his compound.

"Get up Dave, no sense dying from sickness today." Hunter dragged the wounded raider into the workshop and out of the rain. He pulled him next to a fire barrel giving off heat and a few sleeping bags laying next to the heat source. He tossed him a couple bandages and gauze from his pockets, swung the rifle over his shoulder and pulled out the revolver, reloading it one shell at a time as he looked around. "Anything to eat here?"

Dave, aka Crankshaft, didn't respond, just took the bandages and tried to doctor himself up.

"Good talk." Hunter scoffed as he walked over toward a carton of dirty water and an old lunch cooler, opening it to find a 200 year old can of Cram and a lone Fancy Lad Cake. A couple empty beer bottles lay around the place, with a single Nuka-Cola bottle laying next to a knocked over vending machine. Trying to stay within range of his captive, his search was limited to a couple metal boxes. Some containing parts, others some tools or nothing at all.. Upon returning to the fire barrel he noticed two yellow chem boxes next to a sleeping bag closest to the wall. _"Jackpot!"_ He walked over, popped one open...a dose of Psycho and Buffout, _"Damn it."_ Second one contained what he was looking for, two syringes of Med-X, a Stimpak and a lone beer. Retrieving the contents he tossed a couple scraps of wood into the fire and settled down on the bed roll near the rusting car frame. Leaning _Vista_ against it, he heaped his findings in front of him, pulling out a bottle of purified water to add to the pile.

Dave looked up, "Going to give me a last meal?"

Hunter cracked open the can of Cram and used his fingers to get a bite, "Of course," he chewed the processed, food, if it could be called that. "Here you go." He tossed over the bottle of Buffout and the carton of dirty water. Dave gave a quick fuck you before grabbing the drugs and water. Nothing was really said the rest of the night, not even a thank you as Hunter split the beer between them. He might have been a professional bounty hunter, who didn't think twice about putting a bullet in someone's head if they proved to be more trouble than not, but he still had an oath to uphold; Justice, Integrity and Service. Dave was wanted mainly for murder of a counsel member at Seven Clans Casino, but he was also guilty of other crimes as a raider. He deserved to be brought to justice, but he was at one point a friend of Hunter's who used to do good. Hunter was an honest man, and because of Dave's past life, he saw him as a person and couldn't treat him as another Wasteland psycho raider bent on killing. In the morning Dave would get his last true meal.

He didn't come up with the oath, a bounty hunter when he was younger had told him it. Bring criminals to justice, have the integrity to follow your word by bringing them in alive, do what is right, not what is easy and perform the service to protect those who are unable to protect themselves; or something like that, been years since he had heard it last. Hunter grew up in a chapel along side a couple houses near the Blackduck ruins, wasn't anything special but quiet enough. Raiders usually left the place alone on the account of the Enforcers maintained an old pre-war checkpoint, just outside the settlement. Chapelwoods, as it was called, provided the Enforcers with food, freshwater and the occasional bottle of home brew, Fire-water as the natives called it, in return a patrol would usually swing wide to scare away any hostiles. Dave, Katti, and himself always dreamed of growing up and joining the Enforcers, protecting the weak and doing good. One day raiders hit, so did Enforcers, tore the small community to pieces as they battled each other. Raiders took Katti, Enforcers took Dave and he got trapped under a raider he killed while trying to protect his father. A bounty hunter named Pike, rescued him, fed him up, taught him how to survive, shoot, and track...raised him in a way. His father was a religious man, taught Hunter the basics of morals and such...but no else followed them; Pike did, but now he's dead.

A thud brought him back to reality, Dave had passed out from the drug high, which Hunter expected being exhausted and on an empty stomach. He walked over, bound up his arms, patted him down and took a better look around. Didn't find much else, worth hiking back. Couple rolls of duct tape, a gold plated flip lighter, two packs of smokes, handful of bottle caps and two ammo boxes adding up to about fifty rounds of .38...but not much else besides the suit of raider power armor which wasn't worth taking without a fusion core.

"What do we have here?" Hunter grinned and picked up a battered cowboy hat off the floor next to an engine block. Fit alright, and looked a lot sharper than just a shaggy head of hair. If nothing else, just sell it for caps. Returning to the soft glow of the fire and bathing in it's warmth, he added more wood before laying down and pulling his new prize over his eyes. 

_It was cold on his back, no...it was getting colder, but the water on his hand was so warm. Wait, it wasn't water but blood that was flowing from his chest. It was a beautiful crimson against the snow and cloudy sun backed sky. He coughed, droplets of the crimson life fluid spurted up. His breath, visible in the winter air, but was fading with each struggled gasp. Something was cold and heavy in his other hand, his revolver. It bit at his skin as he struggled to grasp it._

" _Poor little Hunter, always stuck looking up at the sky," a beautiful native American woman walked over to him. A smoking sawed off shotgun in her hands, she released the breach allowing for the two empty husks to eject out. She pulled out two shells from a pocket, next to a couple grenades attached to her thick white sturdy metal armor chest plate. A black puma with a red 13 in the middle was painted across the front, covering the dents and scratches it had seen over the years._

 _He brought the weapon up, she knelt down beside him. "Only one round left, sure it can penetrate?" She pulled the barrel up to the metal armor. "Count of three," With her other hand she put the sawed off barrels against his forehead. "One...two..."_

A scream broke the silent morning, Hunter jerked awake revolver drawn. Dave was scrambling inside dropping his pipe rifle as a fast creature pounced on him. A single shot dropped the wolf on top of him. Moving toward the door he fired four shots before finally picking off another two wolves coming from the garage. No doubt they had been feeding on the other raiders and caught their scent.

"It's empty Dave," Hunter replaced the spent rounds before holstering it once again. "took the rounds out last night, even the extra two clips on your belt."

Dave pushed the dead creature off of him. "They could have fucking killed me!"

"Well, I wasn't going to take the chance you wouldn't try to kill me," Pulling out a trench knife Hunter cut off some meat from the wolf. "Oh yeah, happy last meal." He tossed Dave the Fancy Lad Snack Cake and what was left of the Cram. Not much else was said, Hunter cooked up the wolf meat eating some and saving the rest. It wasn't the best tasting thing, but food was food.

"So, we going the long safe and easy way or the short and hard way?" Dave wrestled with his bindings, but knew he couldn't get them off. More of something to do, than a real attempt at escape.

Hunter didn't answer, he had thought about it but still wasn't sure. The long way would take an hour and was to follow the road back Northeast until they hit 89, then follow that South till they made it to Seven Clans. It was easier to travel, but would take longer and probably also meant running into some of the natives that wanted Dave dead. They were in Native territory, which for Hunter wasn't a big deal, he had earned...most of their respect and trust, some still wanted to gut him for just being an outsider and others because of his past interactions. The short way, the way Hunter chased them down, was through a marshy, muddy forest, for about 500-700 feet, into what was probably once a field or clearing...then on to some old road that lead straight into Seven Clans, in about half the time. Most people stayed clear of the road, mainly because slavers used it as their trade highway and didn't take well to people messing in their affairs.

After giving a look over the salvaged power armor frame, covered with the raider metal plating, and once again figuring without a fusion core it wasn't worth it, they made their way toward the torn up dead bodies. _Beuna_ was safely in her holster, _Vista_ comfortably swung across his back and Dave's pipe rifle rested in his arms. He didn't see Sammy's body as they made it through the garage and back to the old truck, figured he probably made it a little way before getting hit by the wolves.

"Son of a bitch, took my gloves before he died." Hunter looked around the truck where he had discarded his gloves.

Dave gave a chuckle, "Lug-nut was never too bright, huh...Lug-nut...would have been a good nickname."

"You and your need to give everyone a nickname," Hunter whispered as he looked at his ransacked duffel. "That dead son of a bitch!" He had dropped it off before beginning his assault on the compound last night. He looked through it; his food was gone, water gone, nearly all his ammo, grenades and medical supplies were gone. A couple loose rounds of .38, .50 and .45 rolled around. Along with a roll of duct tape and an empty clip for his rifle. Before giving another curse, he quickly checked the secret pocket between the shoulder straps, _"missed a box, thank god."_ A box of .44 was still in the slim pocket he had sewn on.

"Fucking idiot," Dave kicked his dead underling and laughed, "should have just took the whole duffel, well guess that is why I called the shots."

" _True enough,"_ Hunter thought, _"should have shot him last night too..."_ Thinking of his options; he could gather up some of the junk here and use it to trade, plus get the bounty caps, or just collect up on the bounty and replace his loss from that. The dull ache from his body reminded him that, he probably wasn't in the best of shape to carry a bunch of stuff back; plus watch a deadly captive and going back through the hostile wastes. _"Here is to hoping you are going back home kid,"_ Hunter thought before giving a sigh.

"Happy trails Lug-nut."


	2. Chapter 2: Lady Luck

Chapter 2: Lady Luck

Much to the many complaints, insults of looking ridiculous in the cowboy hat and curses from Dave, they were taking the short way through the hostile, unpatrolled and endless supply of deadly feral creatures ready to kill them all. He only had about twelve rounds of .50 calibers, little over thirty rounds of .44 and, thanks too taking an extra peak in the garage before they headed out, about eighty rounds of .38 left to help plow their way back to Seven Clans. Thankful Dave, the devious raider known as Crankshaft, was keen on having a heavily modified pipe rifle to deal death; coming nicely outfitted with calibrated hair-trigger receiver, glow sighted, long ported barrel, large side magazine and newly refurbished spring recoiling stock. It wasn't his first choice, but since he had lost over a hundred rounds of .50 cal, which alone would fetch a fair price at any trading post, he didn't have much of a choice. The sleet from last night had made everything even harder to travel, muddy and wet they marched on through the woods with the clearing in sight.

"Can we rest once we get out of this shit?" Dave complained after nearly falling trying to climb over a fallen tree.

"Shut up," Hunter stopped before going over the same tree, "can you just close your mouth for a half hour?" His body was also starting to rebel against the travel, "If we get half way across the field and stop will you close your mouth?" he said with a sigh.

"You know I can't promise that," Dave gave a smile.

The field was muddy, but still fairly solid that they could make it with little effort. About half way they took a rest just on the edge, next to a large fallen tree. Hunter scanned the clearing over the trunk slowly, watching for any sign of movement. There it was, off ahead about a hundred yards just inside the tree line. Three armed raiders took up positions, one hobbled with a limp and nursed his arm.

Hunter set down the pipe rifle next to the duffel, swung _Vista_ around and brought her up. "Bye Lug-nut." He centered him in the cross hairs and squeezed the trigger, but before he got it depressed all the way, another shot was fired off to his left from a couple of trees in the field. It struck the fallen trunk and kicked up a couple splinters. He ducked down, and shot a glance back at Dave. He was smiling, a crazy smile, a Crankshaft smile. _"Maybe he was more Raider than Dave..."_ Hunter didn't have time for the disappointing revelation.

Another shot from the sniper hit the tree again and again, a few shots came from in front; some hitting the tree, most flying over head. Whoops and "fuck yeah"'s, got closer as the raiders moved in. The sniper held his fire, either reloading or saving his precious shots. Plenty of firearms up here, but ammo was in short supply. A Molotov broke in front of the makeshift bunker a yard or two away.

"Are you fucking stupid?" Lug-nut cursed out his comrade, "You alright Crankshaft?"

"I'll be better if you don't light me on fire Lug-nut." Dave, no Crankshaft, answered with the same crazy smile. "Is that Piston and Overdrive?"

"Nah, couldn't find them," Lug-nut admitted, "but I ran into one of Markov's patrols and I told them Hunter was after you."

Dave seemed to come back to reality for a second, "Oh, fuck..."

Markov or Mark-Of-Death, which was his full Native name, was one of the most brutal raiders around. Well it explained the quickness of reinforcements and the armament too, he was known to own reloading equipment and nearly cornered the market up here. Operating up here as much as he did, Hunter knew why Crankshaft was worried. Seven Clans had a deal with Markov, he keeps the Slaving Lanes clear to the West and they would sell his ammo. Problem was, the man they left to oversee that Seven Clans upheld their part of the bargain, was the same one Dave had murdered; before he robbed the weapons lock up, stole _Vista_ , blew up the West Gate, shot Hunter's Radmare and then gave him the bird before making his escape. _"Yeah, definitely made it personal..."_

"Hand him on over Hunter," one of the raiders with Lug-nut called out in a southern accent, "and yeh can just walk away."

Pulling down his cowboy hat Hunter smiled, he knew that voice, Tex. _"Disappointing, you should know me better than that Tex."_ He really only worried about the sniper, but without knowing for sure where he was, the three targets in front of him had to do. "Thought you hated the cold Tex."

"Yeah, that I do, but oh man the booze up here warm..." Tex trailed off before he could finish pulling up his gun.

Hunter kneeled up, and took his shot on the southern raider. The left side of his face blew off from the impact of the .50 cal round. Before the casing hit the ground, he had put another round into the chamber and let the round hit the other raider next to Lug-nut. The sniper opened fire, not on Hunter, but Dave. He dove beside Hunter and reached for the pipe rifle, but took a hit to the face from the butt of _Vista_.

"Run Lug-nut, find Piston and Overdrive before he puts a hole in your dumb ass." Dave called out, grabbing his broken nose.

Hunter had an idea where the sniper was, but it wasn't worth wasting the precious rounds on a guess. Best to stick to the tree line and run for the road. A couple more shots whizzed past, one catching the top of Dave's outside bicep, sending a spray of blood out. It wasn't lethal, but still must of hurt like none other. With his gear recovered and secure, Hunter let loose a few rounds from the pipe rifle. "Move it Dave! I don't have a shot." Following his order, he got up best he could with bound hands and ran, using the trees for cover.

Hunter pulled a dose of Med-X out of his jacket and drilled it into his injured leg, _"Run and gun time."_ He hopped the bullet ridden tree trunk, fired wildly and ran like a drunken man; full steam, stop, go, slow then bolting again. He fired toward the sniper's location blindly, trying to keep the sniper from getting a clear shot on him and letting Dave go; who was just bolting along the trees but toward the road. He didn't stay on Hunter for long, but couldn't get a shot to hit Dave either. The muddy ground finally caught up with Hunter and caused him to lose his footing and slip. It couldn't have happened at a better time, since a round ripped through his hat where his head use to be. _"Damn lady luck."_ He rolled over, grabbed his hat and bolted deeper into the trees. He figured the clip was empty and the sniper would have to reload giving him the time needed to catch up with Dave.

Meeting up with Dave, who was huffing and puffing behind a tree, they regrouped. "If I survive this, I'm going to kill Lug-nut." He said as Hunter reloaded. "Cut me loose Hunter." Holding up his bound hands.

"I will," holding his breath trying to slow his breathing, "when hell freezes over, now get moving."

Crankshaft was back, cursing out Hunter and refusing to move even as another blow from the pipe rifle's stock knocked him to his knees. "Okay, just give me a second!" He pulled out a long white and green plastic syringe, with a yellow capped end, from under one of his shoulder armor plates. It was a pre-war adrenaline shot, potent stuff that seemed to slow time, similar to jet, but wasn't as addictive; mainly due to the fact that it was almost guaranteed to blow out your heart first. Gabbing it in his chest and smiling, he shot a glance up at Hunter. His facial muscles started twitching like a psycho addict, which he also probably was, "Party time Hunter!"

He was up and off before Hunter caught his own breath for another sprint fest. One more shot went off, but it wasn't close and only another two went off before going silent as they neared the road. Watching Crankshaft fly out of the woods and across the open grassland, arms open wide like bird was scary. Either he figured he had nothing to loose, or that stuff just made you feel invincible. Slowing his stride to a more manageable pace, Hunter kept his eye on him, surprised Crankshaft nearly made it to the road before collapsing.

Feeling out of danger, he walked up on the unmoving raider, "You better not be dead, or I'll shoot you again." He noticed the raider was still breathing, fast and loud the closer he got. "Get up..."

Crankshaft didn't, just laid there taking heavy breaths, probably dying from a heart attack. With only fifteen minutes or so out from what remained of the West gate, he started dragging him. Dave...Crankshaft, who or whatever was left in that dying body was limp the whole way to the dirt road. Hunter huffed more, letting go of the sweat drenched hoodie of the limp body, and falling to his knees trying to recover.

 _It was loud, the sound of a rifle round striking the shotgun pointed at his head. Only Lady Luck, could have prevented any of the shrapnel from shredding his face. On instinct, he fired his last shot up the metal armor and sending the round smashing into her lower left jaw, under the skin of her cheek, then bursting through the skin plowing a deep gash as it travel up along her face toward the sky._

 _She fell on her ass, still very much alive but stunned with blood, fear and surprise. The officer from the tower grabbed the back of his uniform and started dragging, "Was my last round," He gave a groan trying to keep his footing in the snow. "You're not dead yet, get back in the fight." With that a syringe was stabbed into his arm._

 _Not taking a second to think about what happened, the revolver's cylinder burst open sending spent casings into the snow and covering them with blood and dirt; as his body was dragged away toward the last set of sandbags and a single ammo box. The woman reached over and pulled up his rifle on him, shots exchanged between the two...the pressure around his neck...around his neck._

With a cough, he eyes burst open and hunter slugged the man before he could finish locking the collar around his neck. The pipe rifle was no longer near him, but luckily the revolver was nestled in her holster. Hunter choked a couple times as he tried to pull up and tear the collar off at the same time. They exchanged fire and his .44 round tore into the slaver's chest. During the exchange the slaver was able to get two shots out before breathing his last. As the rounds hit, the first round struck a plate dead on and stopped; while the other round clipped the edge of a plate and shattered into both his skin and jacket lining. He doubled over again, gripping his bleeding side. The pain was numbed by the Med-X, but it was slowly wearing off. Hunter reached up to ensure the collar was off, and kicked it as far away while on the ground. _"Never only one slaver,"_ almost if on cue the butt end of a rifle confirmed his thought.

"Don't kill him, damn it!" A female voice barked as the stock came down again on his body.

Trying to shield his head and face, he noticed that Crankshaft didn't have a collar on, nor was he dead. His eyes popped open and a devious smile crept wide while pulling the knife from the woman's boot sheath. He drilled it deep into the side of her knee and forcing it out the back in a spray of blood as an artery had been torn.

Hunter took advantage of his distracted attacker and rolled to his back, pulling up his revolver. As he did so, he noticed there was a slave bound and tied to a harness on his own attacker, his hands shook. _"Breath, just breath,"_ he fired a round into the slavers chest, but there must have been some plated armor under his jacket for he recoiled, but no blood spattered. The slaver brought the barrel of the R91 assault rifle down on him, Hunter also brought his gun down; but his was at the slaver's kneecap. A .44 round blew the unarmored joint into a bloody, fleshy mess. Screaming in pain the slaver fell, his shots going wide, and unintentionally dragging the scared slave down on his face.

"Drop your weapon, I don't want-" before Hunter could finish the sentence the slave's collar exploded with his head, along with ripping the slaver's throat open and sending gore all over Hunter. _"What the fuck!"_ screamed in his head as his mouth failed to form words and his eyes couldn't close to hide the horror.

Crankshaft smiled as blood covered his face, a clicking sound kept going off every time he hit the trigger on the detonator. The slaver leader was dead from her own knife sticking out of her throat. Crankshaft dropped the detonator, realizing the fun was over and this would be his only chance for freedom with the knife in front of him. On his way to the knife, he was met by a kick to the face and a fury of fists.

The limbs belonged to a black female slave on the ground, flailing around in blind attempt to defend herself from everything. She was squeezing her eyes shut with such force that the tops of her cheeks almost touched her eyebrows. A heavy metal object on her left forearm struck Crankshaft in the mouth, then the chin, as he tried to climb over her to the knife.

"That's enough..." It came out as a whisper instead of a command. "That's enough!" Hunter had managed to get to his feet, moving as fast as his body would allow. Blood was starting to slow from his side wounds, but with ever step he made, fresh blood flows squeezed out. He gave Crankshaft a pistol whip to the back of the head, then pulled him off the girl.

"Please! Don't hurt me..." her face was dirty, bruised and stained from tear trails.

"It's okay, they're dead, everything is going to be fine." It wasn't totally true since there was still the issue of the slave collar around her neck and a crazed raider possibly holding detonator. Hunter tried to calm her while keeping an eye on Crankshaft. "What is your name?"


	3. Chapter 3: Trauma

Chapter 3: Trauma

Her name was Scarlett Holmes, and she was a vault survivor, which he could have guessed now being able to see her blue and yellow jumpsuit. Vault 45 to be exact, but she wasn't sure where exactly it was located, nor was her Pipboy able to disclose the location being so far away from it; some place off to the West was all she knew.

"Hunter," Dave whispered, "there is still the issue of her choice in jewelry, or have you forgotten?"

He hadn't, but there wasn't much of anything he could do since he didn't find a key on any of the slavers. Ignoring Dave, he tossed Scarlett a high necked jacket one of the slavers had on and made a tattered scarf out of some of the discarded cloths.

"This should cover your collar, until we can get to someone to take it off." Hunter picked up his duffel, now heavier with the added assault rifle sticking out the top.

"Thank you again, both of you." She gave a smile to each, either ignoring that one of them had bound hands and covered in blood, some not his own; or just hadn't even noticed it yet. "How did you know that detonator wasn't to my collar? I mean, you did know after all right?" she asked Crankshaft.

"Of course I did," he smiled at her and shook his head with a shrug when Hunter locked eyes with him.

Hunter just rolled his eyes, figuring it was probably better to not bring up the fact she nearly lost her head. Having taken the second to last of his Stimpaks, he was starting to get thirsty, which was side effect he would take over possible death. The shrapnel was still going to need to be extracted, but at least the bleeding had stopped and healing was starting on his other bruises. " _Wish I had another dose of Med-X to spare_ " he sighed knowing he couldn't do anything to help curb the pain from the multiple wounds and bruises. With only one dose left and no telling when he might need it, best to save it.

Before they set out, Crankshaft moved in close, "Are you sure we should bring her along? Only going to end with all of us dead."

"She's dead if we don't, I mean look at her." She did look lost and confused at to the whole situation she found herself in. He doubted she would last long in the wastes if they sent her off, plus the whole explosive collar thing.

"Once you collect the bounty, you are going to have to hurry out, Hunter," his voice got real serious, "After Lucky learns of who you killed and Markov catches word that you killed his men. Both those fuckers are going to be out for blood."

Hunter just stared at him, _"Who he'd killed? Tex? Why would Lucky care about Tex? Sure he was a regular at the Casino, but it was open to a lot of raiders who didn't kill natives."_

"Oh fuck, you have no idea do you?" He laughed, "Tex was her favorite play toy, the accent and all probably. You are so dead, guess I'll see you on the other side."

"Why do you do that? Make them all out to be killers and blood thirsty, she's reasonable and she'll understand." Hunter wasn't sure of his own words of her understanding, but he was right that not all natives were bloodthirsty; just scared and trying to survive like the rest of the frozen Wasteland.

"Have you forgot what they did? Who died?" The bitterness in his words told Hunter all he needed to know, that it was a conversation he didn't want to have.

Scarlett was confused on why they were arguing, but started to walk with them once Hunter decide it was time to go. Crankshaft walked in front of him, and Scarlett trailed along just behind him. He made sure she was pulling her own share, with a pack loaded of recovered gear and by giving her the plated leather to wear under her jacket, along with the 10mm pistol the slaver used against him. Not much was said as they walked along, Crankshaft looked back a couple times and Scarlett gave a few noises as she struggled to carry the pack; Hunter, he was thinking.

He was thinking on what was said, he hadn't forgotten who died. They were both at one of the deciding battles of the war. It was true that a few native tribes got together and made an attempt to kill or at least scare off all non-native settlers. The Enforcers were just as guilty of killing natives, usually with little to no evidence if something happened near their protected settlements. Hunter never took part in any attacking, he only defended settlements or reinforced outposts and checkpoints. Dave had, he took part in the counterattack the Enforcers launched that ended with massive causalities on both sides and the signing of the ceasefire that ended the war.

"It was eight years ago, Dave, the war is over."

Dave spun around getting up in Hunter's face, "It's not over for me! It will never be over until either they all lay dead or I do." His eye started to twitch, "You fucking coward," with a powerful thrust he pushed Hunter to the ground, "why do you protect those savages? Why do you turn your back on your own people?"

"My people? Who, you? Killing and raiding farms with women and children?" Hunter side kicked Dave's legs causing him to also fall to the ground. "I signed up to protect people from being treated like that!"

"I do what I have to do! By taking out the farms, I take out their supplies, causing them to turn on themselves! It's for the greater good, why can't you see that?" Dave used his bound hands to toss dirt into Hunter's eyes.

He was able to use his left hand to block the dirt, but Dave got a grip on the pipe rifle. It was a struggle, but Hunter got a good kick on Dave's hurt shoulder then drew up the gun to face him.

"I see a wild murderer that needs to be brought to justice for the crimes he has committed on innocent people, and that's what I am going to do. I see my friend is dead and a fiend is left in his place." Hunter motioned for him to get up.

Crankshaft sat on the ground, hands to his shoulder, "Bringing me to Slavers, raiders and chem dealers for justice huh, wow how noble of you." He spat on Hunter's boots and got to his feet, "I'm sure he would be real proud of your moral compass."

Scarlett started after him and gave Hunter a very confused and scared glance as she passed. She was gripping the pistol if ready to use it at any second. He couldn't blame her, seeing the people you thought had rescued you from being enslaved, only to find out they are a bunch of psychos ready to burst. Yeah, real knights they were.

"Stop," it came out as a whisper from his dry mouth, "Dave, stop...please." Hunter was about ten feet back from him. "Well head by The Market first, hit up Moon's trading post and figure something out."

Dave didn't say anything to Hunter, instead he turned to Scarlett, "That thing can pick up the radio right?"

"My Pipboy, uh yeah, sure." She brought up her Pipboy and looked it over, then started flipping through the stations. It wasn't long till she found one with music, 99.1 Red Lake Classics with the one and only...Jackpot Hammer, the only ghoul radio host in the Midwest. "Why does his voice sound so rough?"

Hunter had caught up, "He's a ghoul, non feral one at least." The look on her face told him that she had no idea what a ghoul was, nor that there was feral and non feral. "Ghouls are people exposed to too much radiation and didn't die, some are even old enough that they are pre-war. Red Lake is supposedly full of pre-war ghouls."

"His voice is at least better, than listening to your ass." Dave started to hum along to the Bing Crosby song as he walked away.

Nothing was said for the next five minutes as the group arrived at The Market, a central hub of vendors of various wares, equipment and sadly, humans. It was difficult to say what exactly The Market was in pre-war times, a construction company or equipment dealer perhaps; with all the construction equipment nearby it seemed like a safe bet to be one. Most of the old metal giants had been painstakingly moved to create a wall around the casino, not that big of a deal when you have a yard full of slaves to do all the hard labor. A few white and green dump-trucks, a rust spotted yellow bucket-less loader and a couple flat bed trailers flipped on their side remained. A rusty fence with sections, every so often, missing or damaged over the years encircled three intact buildings. The center one looked like an old single floor office building or something, Hunter had never been inside it so difficult to tell. The other two were equipment buildings. the larger one next to the office building, was in better shape and also housed most of the vendors. The smaller one on the west side housed the slave pens and was watched over by a patched together guard tower.

Across the old road from the compound, and their destination, was an old brown fuel station with a sign by the pumps; "Always 24 Self Service For You!", in smaller print was something about a $25 charge if caught littering. Hunter found it amusing and wondered what the charge would be for this mess. It wasn't in bad condition, but it had seen abuse over the years with windows shattered and missing ceiling tiles. It was run by a native man named Moon, and his son, Allan. Both of them seem like they could fix anything you brought in.

Once inside, Hunter heard the tings of hammer hitting metal in the back and Moon wiping down the counter. A man sat near a repaired table, dressed as a postal worker and eating some Fancy Lad Cakes. 99.1 played on the radio near Moon, echoing the music playing from Scarlett's Pipboy.

"My dear, do you mind turning that off, hard enough to hear the music already." Moon gave a smile as she clicked the station off. "Well the duo returns together again, probably for the last time I assume."

Dave sat on an empty chair near a rack of burnt comics, didn't say anything just a low grunt .

"Sure, umm, we need your help with removing a..." Hunter wasn't sure if he could trust the postman, "specialty collar." He gave a couple nods at Scarlett with his head.

Moon gave the black woman a look over, "I wouldn't be worried about that," returning his expression toward Hunter, "but those bullets in your gut and your friends shoulder, might need more attention." "Allan, special project coming back." He yelled over his shoulder.

Hunter looked at Dave turning the rack in hopes maybe something readable would appear. "You coming?"

"Just going to be dead here soon, whats the point bounty hunter?" Picking up one of the more intact comics and started going through it. "Don't worry, I'll be here when you get back. It's certain death for me out there."

Hunter wasn't satisfied with the answer, but it was logical. He headed through the door behind the counter, into a tight break room turned bedroom and finally the workshop. There was a partially disassembled Eyebot on the workbench. To his surprise Allan had already removed a section of the collar and was searching his tool belt for something.

"You have done this before right?" Scarlett looked nervous as Allan was tugging a few wires.

"Well, never taken one off, but yeah I've worked on the locks a lot. Really hardy mechanism really, it's the thin explosive trigger that you need to be gentle with." He tugged a couple times hard enough to shake her head back and forth.

"Never knew a lock that could give you trouble." Hunter chuckled as he examined the Eyebot behind the mechanic.

"Oh the locks off already," he pointed to the piece beside him on the tool tray, "just trying to get this damn trigger loose so we can unhinge it without blowing up."

Hunter turned slowly and was sure Scarlett had gone white as a ghost, even with her dark complexion. He tried to scoot a little bit closer toward the break room door since the main garage door was close. " _Fuck this..._ " He made a slight jerk when he heard a click sound.

"Alright, well that was easy." Allan opened the collar and put it on a shelf of the workshop bench under the Eyebot. "Anything else I can do? Otherwise I really need to finish soldering these wires."

Hunter opened his jacket and pulled it away on the one side to expose the shrapnel wounds. "Don't suppose you have some doctor skills hidden in here?"

"Not so much, but I do have this pretty powerful magnet. I think it will probably pull those right out, might need some Med-X or something stronger; that and a couple Stimpaks should patch you up for travel in a day or two." Allan wiped his hands on a dirty rag and then moved over to dig out the magnet. "Probably want your jacket fixed up too, hmm probably could ask dad do a bundle discount."

Hunter wasn't sure if Allan was talking with him or not, " _What was he going to do with Dave if he was laid up for a couple days, not to mention he only had one_ Med-X _left_ " He guessed it wasn't a huge problem since he did plan on getting more medical supplies anyway. Still, what as he going to do with Dave? " _If I hand him over to Lucky then none of this will be a problem, but what if he is right? Lucky was going to killing him. No, she isn't just going to killing him, but torture and then kill him. I would just be a murderer._ " Hunter thought over this internal discussion. " _No, he does deserve justice for his crimes, but not that type_."

"I have to get some things first then," Hunter put his self back together and headed back into the main store. Two more men and a child were in there trying to make a deal with Moon about something. Some radio show was playing on the radio, with the child ensnared to every word coming out. Hunter really didn't pay much attention. Just looked at Dave sitting there, " _Either he's given up and accepted, nah that was Dave. He's brooding something or waiting, maybe for his men to come in and shoot up the place._ " With a sigh, "Dave 'Crankshaft' Schellman, I'm bringing you in for justice against..."

The young child gave him a ssshhh as the radio show played;

...*a sound played over the radio as if a gun firing*... **Come on out Crankshaft, I'm bringing you in**...*another set of gun fire noises went off*... _ **You'll have to fight your way in Marshal!**_... **Have it your way outlaw**!...*an attempt to sound like feet running came on, followed by the fake shooting.*... _ **Damn, you got me in the arm, I yield! I yield!**_... **I told you there was a new man in town, Marshal Hunts, and criminals like you are going to meet justice**...*it sounded like clapping after he finished that last line*...That concludes today's episode of 'The Marshal', tune in next time for more thrilling adventures!

Jackpot said in his raspy ghoul voice, "Wow, that Marshal Hunts sounds like a real swell guy. Bringing raiders to justice, we need more men like that. I think this song is fitting and goes out to the real lawman out there." The song that started playing was Big Iron by Marty Robbins, one of Hunter's favorites.

The kid turned to his father, "Wow Pa, do you really think the Marshal is out there fighting crime?"

His father looked over and finally noticed Dave and Hunter, he mouth opened in surprise and a strange smile slowly appeared, "You're Dave Schellman and Hunter Tobin...its you isn't it?" He slapped his friend across the chest with his backhand. "And you didn't want to come in today Randy, heroes we would have missed!"

Unlike the father, his friend wasn't overly excited, "Heroes, that there is the leader of the Wreckers, Crankshaft...nothing he does is what I would call heroic." He spit on the floor, "As for you boy, I know what you did and I'm thankful. Saved my life and Henry's."

Scarlett spoke up, "Heroes, what did they do?"

Hunter didn't know how long she had been standing there, " _Nothing I would call heroic_."

The boy's father, Henry, spoke up and told the whole story. The attack on the Deer Lake settlement, and how Hunter and Dave's squad had held off over fifty men until help arrived. They gave the settlers time to clear out, otherwise they would have been overrun and killed.

Dave finally spoke, "Was more like eighty, just kept coming like waves. Never thought I would ever run out of bullets." A smile of satisfaction and reminiscing stayed on his face.

Randy frowned, "Never could wipe that bloodlust off your hands could you?"

"Wasn't worth it, lost a lot of good men." Hunter leaned against the wall, needing the support to keep him up.

"Wasn't worth it? You saved families, hell my son wouldn't be alive if it wasn't for what you guys did!" Henry choked out, before bringing his son in closer, "I understand you lived the fight and saw the death, but I thank you for his sake and my own."

It was hard for Hunter to make eye contact. There was ten of them holding the checkpoint, only two of them made it out alive. It was also the beginning of the end for him, shortly after the ceasefire, he left the Enforcers. Been traveling alone ever since, trying to do good deeds and collect on outlaws. " _Seems more like a lie now, seeing who I was working for._ "

"Bounty hunter, sure are taking your time to collect." A set of three men dressed in red and black coats, covering some sturdy leather armor under it, were in the street looking toward the station. The lead had a 10mm pistol, the one on his left had a heavily modified pipe rifle and the other a double barrel shotgun. "How bout we just take him from you, save you the trouble. I'm sure we could split the reward money." The chuckles from the other men raised extreme doubt in that promise.

Hunter pulled out his revolver, flipped the cylinder out giving it a spin to make sure it was full, then snapped it back closed. Swinging the rifle off his back, he looked behind toward Moon and the other patrons. "I'll take it outside Moon," glancing over to the other three, "you guys might want to get down, just in case." Walking toward the door, Dave tapped his wrist, and looked up with an unreadable serious face.

"Not going to win with your side like that," He tapped Hunter's wound and nodded slowly when he saw the wince. "it's not your fight anymore, I'll go."

Scarlett tried to take the assault rifle out of the duffel, but the magazine kept getting stuck on the tie string. She gave a curse, fighting to get it free, "I can help, just tell me what to do."

Hunter took out his last dose of Med-X and plunged it into his leg once again, "Nope, said I was going to bring you to justice and Lucky isn't justice."

Moon spoke up before Hunter was out the door, "Why do you take that stuff Hunter?"

"Get's me back in the fight"

Moon's face was grim, "Does it ever change the outcome?"

Hunter took a deep breath, "I'm still here aren't I?" With that he stepped out the door heading toward the trio, stopping to put _Vista_ up against the backside of one of the pumps. "I'm not taking him to Lucky, why don't you head off and tell her to back off." He knew they wouldn't, but worth a shot.

The leader of the group snorted, "Guess we'll just take him ourselves then." He pulled up on Hunter and fired his hair-trigger 10mm. It gave him twice the number of rounds than the revolver.

Hunter was already falling toward the pump before the shots went out. He only got a couple shots off before hitting the ground, but one of them did graze the leader's thigh. Shots slammed into the rusting pump as Hunter peaked out taking another two shots while the leader scrambled for cover shooting wildly. The revolver rounds struck the leather, one of them finding a weak spot and penetrating flesh. A couple pellets from the shotgun struck his jacket and face, it didn't penetrate either but stun. Hunter shot twice more in his direction not aiming that well as rounds clanged off metal. The short barrel and distance away prevent the spread from staying tight enough to do any real damage; however, the automatic pipe rifle was able to light up the pump with devastating effect. The metal started to cave under the abuse and a few rounds got through, hitting the plates in his jacket and piercing his flesh next to the shrapnel wounds.

The shotgun man was closing the gap, but he could only fire two shots at a time before needing to reload. Hunter picked up his own rifle and drilled a shot right through his armor and into his chest. The man dropped to his knees, then settling on his face, coughed a few spurts of blood before dying. Unlike the shotgun, the last attacker could reload the magazines faster before unleashing another wave of bullets against the tore up pump. Hunter sprinted out from behind and headed toward a support pillar of the over hang. If it wasn't for the intense recoil of the pipe rifle, Hunter would have taken more hits; not that he made it unscaved to cover. A bullet had struck a plate and shattered like before, sending more shrapnel throughout his jacket and arm this time. His legs being only protected by heavy jeans, meant nothing stopped two other rounds grazed his right thigh and calf. It was only considered a graze since they hit the surface flesh and left gashes; but the gashes were about a half inch deep.

" _Fuck, can't run now._ " Hunter clenched his teeth hard, glad the painkiller was flowing through his veins or the pain might have been crippling in his already fragile state.

Pulling up he fired a shot with the rifle, but his injured arm made it difficult. It took another shot before he made a connection, but it wasn't a death dealing hit. His attacker's left elbow did blow apart into a spray of flesh, bone and blood coming from his jacket. Still holding onto the trigger of the automatic pipe rifle, he ended up shooting himself in the foot losing control of the weapon. Hollering out in pain the man dropped, letting go of his weapon to grab onto his wounded arm. Hunter noticed the attacker's left hand made tremor jerky movements, wondering if it was involuntary or not.

"Don't make me kill you, just run off and tell Lucky it's over." Hunter emptied the revolver of the spent rounds. The hit on his legs was slowly pooling out blood that soaked his pants, which to him meant no artery was hit. The additional shrapnel wounds also bleed slowly, compared to the spewing stream from the attacker's semi-disconnected elbow. " _If amputated and treated quickly, he could survive..._ " Hunter was trying to justify not killing the man, " _but maybe a bullet would be a mercy killing? What do I do, let him control his fate or make the choice? Would it be the right choice to let him die or kill him?_ " Out of frustration he slammed his head against the pillar.

 _The body of the tower officer was crashing on top of him, quickly rolling him off, Hunter fired two more rounds at the woman. A round shattered as it struck her chest plate and the other hit her shoulder. They glared at each other for what seemed forever, until the hellfire they were living in came crashing back. An explosion went off behind the woman, killing her fellow warriors advancing up. Hunter might have jerked, but she held firm in her posture._

 _The sound of the restored armored vehicle of the Enforcers firing another round from it's main cannon, caused Hunter to look back for a second. When he turned back, the woman was gone, leaving only his rifle and marks of blood where she once was. A tug on his body and the sound of muffled speech was met with a disoriented look as he tried to focus on Dave's face._

" _Damn it Hunter, get up! We need to move." Trying to stay low to avoid the gunfire, he again tugged on Hunter. A bullet struck the ground next to him, sending snow and dirt onto his face. Hunter reached out for the other body, as if his touch could bring the officer back to life. Dave only kicked at his hand and half drug him behind the sandbags._

" _Pike's dead! You're not, so fucking stick with me alright? You're all I have left damn it." Dave pressed a roll of gauze into his chest wound with one hand and cradled him in close with the other._

 _Hunter had never seen him cry, but the tears dripped onto face..._

Opening his eyes again, he saw the crippled attacker was gone, leaving only his weapon and a bloody mess of body materials. Something jerked him onto his back, he reached out trying to grab the pillar and stop himself. Once on his back, he could see Scarlett and Dave, free from his binds, over top of him trying to get his jacket off and attend to his wounds. Even with the Med-X in his body, there was a lot of pain, not so much from the wounds but from reliving that terrible nightmare over again. It was why he took the drugs, maybe he could do something different, maybe he missed something that would make things alright, maybe...maybe, Dave was right. Maybe he had forgotten what Pike meant with those words; Justice, Integrity and Service.

"He's dead Dave, I've failed him again and again." Hunter stared off into the clouds, listening to them work on his beaten body, trying to keep the life in, that he was debating about just letting it flow out.

"I know, me too." Dave didn't make eye contact, just kept trying to stop the blood using whatever he could find on Hunter. There was only two small bandage rolls and a Stimpak left, along with the dose of psycho from the Wrecker's compound.

Hunter noticed Dave had tossed the medical supplies to Scarlett, who had been using rags from the shop. Then he watched him get up, and start walking toward the abandoned pipe rifle; before he scooped it up, the spent psycho syringe chimed against the aging concrete.

"Dave, what are you doing?" Hunter groaned as he tried to lift his body up to stop him. It was too late though, Dave was gone.

Crankshaft looked over the weapon and then walked over toward the man with the 10mm pistol. His face was twisted with smile and tweaks. Searching the dead man, he squeezed the pistol between his belt and pants, pocketed a couple magazines and pulled up a jackpot surprise; another dose of psycho.

Hunter couldn't hear him say it, but he knew the words, party time, had come out. Trying to draw his revolver and fight off Scarlett's objections at the same time, was difficult. She called out to Dave to stop it, but he wouldn't listen to anything she said. He watched as Crankshaft took another hit and tossed the spent dose away. If anything of Dave had remained, it was just washed away. Hunter knew all that Crankshaft was going to see was red, and in a place were the majority were Natives; it was about to be a blood bath.

He couldn't let that happen, pulling up the revolver he squeezed the trigger; click. There wasn't a live round left in it, never reloaded it after emptying it. Hearing the shots ring out as Crankshaft went on his murdering spree, gunning down what looked like two more of Lucky's men. There was no time to reload and fumble with the rounds in his state. He rolled onto his stomach toward the rifle, once in hand he pulled up prone style; trying to level the bouncing cross on his target. The rifle jerked back as the round went out and missed. " _Breathe, just breathe._ " Hunter took two deep breaths, lined up his shot again and saw a flash in the scope. Crankshaft, Dave, his friend was dead.

It wasn't his shot that killed him, no he never got off a shot. His friend was vaporized by a laser pistol, in the hands of the Postman. The Eyebot floating next to him as he holstered his weapon and walked over toward Hunter. "Heard you mention something about Justice earlier, Marshal. Well I might not be a judge, but I am a member of the government and we punish criminals." He looked over at the crowd forming, "I have a message for you, marked for your eyes only." He reached into his bag and tossed a Holotape onto Hunters chest, then started to head off.

"Who are you? What government?" Hunter got to a sitting position, holding the Holotape in his bloody hand.

The Postman looked back, "The American government, and for me, I'm just a Postman." The Eyebot bounced up and down ahead of him unaware he had stopped. "Might want to get off the street Marshal," with that he walked off yelling one final message, "Happy trails cowboy."

Scarlett picked up the tape and played it in her Pipboy,

" **Lieutenant Brandon Ryan, 71** **st** **North Guard Infantry Division, congratulations Hunter Tobin for accepting our offer, of joining the Northland Marshals. Our first attempt at a semi-autonomous law enforcement agency. As I'm sure Operative Vince has explained the situation, you will receive assignments from him or one of our secure Eyebots.**

 **Looking forward to hearing about** *static* **that will come from this effort. Proceed to the** *static* **location and await further orders.**

 **God bless America** , *static* **bless the Encl-** *static cut it off and the message ended.*"

"What was that all about?" Scarlett asked trying to help Hunter get toward the gas station.

Hunter hated using _Vista_ as a crutch, but until Moon was able to help Scarlett support him, he had little choice. He didn't say much, partially due to the fact the painkiller was wearing off and the other being he wasn't sure what to make of it. " _God bless,_ " Hunter thought hard, " _haven't heard those words since dad...he knew what was right and wrong, maybe this Brandon and Postman fellows do too. Couldn't get any worse than this_."

"Happy trails." Hunter chuckled out, "Maybe, someday _..._ "


End file.
